MICHAEL
[to her]
He shall not steal thee!

BARBARA
[in a daze]
  I must follow him.

PIPER
No!  ’T is too much.  You shall not follow me! 
I’ll not be followed.—­Damsel, sit you down. 
Here is too much!  I love you not.

BARBARA
[wonderingly]
  You do not? 
Why did you pipe to me?

MICHAEL
  —­And steal her wits,
Stealer of all the children!

BARBARA
[vaguely]
  Are they safe?

PIPER
[to MICHAEL]
Oh, your good faith!—­
[To her]
  They’re safe.

BARBARA
  I knew—­I knew it!

PIPER
And so art thou.  But never shall they go
To Hamelin more; and never shale thou go
To be a nun.

BARBARA
To be a nun,—­no, no!  Ah me, I’m spent. 
Sir, take me with you.

MICHAEL
[still enraged to the PIPES]
  Rid her of the spell! 
Is this thy pledge?

PIPER
[distracted]
  I do but rub my wits—­
To think—­to think.
[To himself]
  What shall I do with her,
Now that she’s here!—­Suppose her bound to stay!
[To them]
Hearken.—­You, Michael, on to Rudersheim—­

MICHAEL
And leave her here?  No, no!

PIPER
  Then take the girl.

BARBARA
To Rudersheim?  No, never, never!

PIPER
  Well . . . 
Hearken.—­There is the hermit, over the hill.
[Apart, wildly]
But how—­suppose she will not marry him? 
I will not take her where the children are. 
And yet—­
[An idea strikes him.  To her]
Hark, now;—­hark, now, and tell me truly;
Can you spin cloth?

BARBARA
[amazed]
I?  Spin?

PIPER
[eagerly]
  Can you make shoes?

BARBARA
I—­I make shoes!—­Fellow!

PIPER
  So.

MICHAEL
  Art thou mad!

PIPER
With me you may not go!  But you’ll be safe. 
Hearken:—­you, Michael, go to Rudersheim;
And tell the nuns—­

BARBARA
  No, no!  I dare not have it! 
Oh, they would send and take me!  No, no, no!

PIPER
Would you go back to Hamelin?

BARBARA
  No—­no—­no! 
Ah, I am spent.
[Droops towards the PIPER; falters and sinks down on the bank
beside the well, in a swoon.—­The PIPER is abashed and rueful
for the moment.

MICHAEL
All this, your work!

PIPER
[looking at her closely]
  Not mine. 
This is no charm.  It is all youth and grief,
And weariness.  And she shall follow you.—­
Tell the good nuns you found her sore bewitched,
Here in this haunt of ’devils’;—­clean distraught. 
No Church could so receive a dancing nun! 
Tell them thou art an honest, piteous man
Desires to marry her.

MICHAEL
  Marry the Moon!